Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

Leaves all came out while I was away…

We take so much for granted until it’s just not there, don’t we? Spending most of April and May away from home while recovering among my fellow aged was truly eye opening in so many ways.

This week, the final cast came off, replaced by a walking boot and the Achilles is back to work again. Kinda achy, honestly, but anything that just hangs around for six weeks with no work can get achy in this well-seasoned body of mine.

Having a walking boot means I can once more mount the steps of this old house of ours. I can walk about the house, and stand to prepare food. I can even garden – a bit – and generally return to this thing we call life.

I will admit that I miss some of my new friends from The Home. Lovely women and men with interesting life stories who are very much living dorm style among their peers. I brought this up with my college roommates since we’ve retained our weekly zoom meet ups beyond the pandemic.

After imagining how much fun we would all have, reliving our college years with the communal living escapades of our early 20s, we all realized we had a few years – maybe decades - to lean in to the fun we still have when we gather. None of us are ready to truly imagine leaving our home communities in Vermont, the Carolinas, Ohio, Minnesota, or Florida. Well, our Florida friend may be interested in moving away from the climate impacts on that state…

The college girls are all planning a trip to England in September – one I will miss as it coincides with my high school reunion – a Big One to celebrate 50 years since graduation. And that is something I truly look forward to experiencing.

So back to being home again – we move on, don’t we – leaving the experience of feeble dependency behind. And now to reengage in the exercises of my daily life – gatherings with friends, activities with the family, work – lots of work, and there’s always laundry.

Ah – sweet life!

Home Stretch Lessons

The final of three casts is on. The Achilles is healing, and I’ll be home in twelve days. 

What a strange period of time this has been - a month ago, I was in surgery to put that pesky tendon back in place, then off to a TCU, and now a more independent respite location where I can wheel myself about with the rest of the senior citizens.

One big lesson coming out of all of this is that yes, I’ve entered the realm of senior citizen hood. Should have figured that out when we first got discounts at the movie theater, but it appears I’ve been so in my head with the busyness of life that I missed the advent of this distinction. 

Turns out it’s not just the availability of senior discounts or access to a remarkable federal insurance program called Medicare, or to the deference paid by colleagues several decades younger than I am. It’s the stark recognition that physical bits one could pay scant attention to in earlier eras now require tending and maintenance. 

Here in this Home, I regularly take meals with my cohort of seniors, being regaled with stories from former lawyers, doctors, U professors, and moms who all seem to have chosen this location to be closer to their kids. From New York, Wisconsin, or North Dakota, they have chosen to complete their life journey in a place convenient for visits by their progeny. And it appears some of that progeny is better about returning the favor than others. 

Again - a moment to note how lucky I am that my family is already nearby and pops over to just drop in as I work to hold onto being among the most cognizant here as well. Time and dates do seem to flow together when one is outside of normal.

I actually enjoy my discussions over meals as the food is excellent. There’s an accomplished chef who turns out three meals a day that even Jacques finds so enjoyable that he’s timing his visits with the 5 pm dinner hour. 

But back to the maintenance issue. The other day I was sitting at a table with a couple of 88 year olds. One popped out of her chair to go get another glass of ice water from across the room, and came back to complete the story she had begun before thirst called her away. The other lovely lady could barely lift her fork to her mouth, required two hands to hold her glass to her lips, and enjoyed listening to, but unable to contribute to, the conversation about her. The difference in the impact of the years appears to be the regular focus on exercise and movement that characterizes the life of my spry 88 year old friend. 

This afternoon, I’ll roll down to the lounge for a memorial video of a revered former resident who died a couple of weeks ago. Catherine did yoga every morning, and played piano every afternoon for residents, and displayed a vibrant sense of humor and engagement in her surroundings. I learned that she had gone to the building’s beauty salon one morning to have her hair done and told the salon owner that she had been exceptionally tired that day and was planning a nap after her appointment. She went to sleep and passed on with lovely hair in place at 102 years old. 

And that’s the lesson I’m taking away from this six-week experience in enfeebled and senior living. Stay active - physically and mentally. Be engaged with your community of friends and family. 

And always, always choose the fun when wearing a cast - now featuring our NBA Timberwolves colors for the playoffs. 

Respite

Well, friends, I’ve moved on from The Home. No more morning wake ups to take a blood pressure reading that was never an issue, nor the issue, that brought me to the Transitional Care Unit. However, rules are rules so twice a day, a usually well-meaning nurse arrived with the arm band, a pulse oximeter - totally familiar after 2020 and COVID - and a forehead thermometer. And twice a day, the readings were well within the normal range. 

Normal I can do.

Mobility remains the issue. 

My one-legged pivots and hops however have progressed to the point that I was able to move to a short term respite apartment in a senior and assisted living building. Turns out this place is home to people almost a decade younger than I, which is truly an eye opener. It is meant to be accessible in an ADA sort of way.

And it sorta is. The wall-to-wall carpeting makes propelling a wheelchair quite the upper body workout challenge. All in all that’s just fine, since I need arm strength to hoist myself in and out of the wheelchair. More progress.

I was almost sad to leave The Home. The friendly aides really helped the time pass - and I always knew I could buzz for help whenever I needed. But my old friend Julie reminded me that I was raised in central Ohio where we are all about grit and determination to keep moving forward - and forward meant moving into greater independence.

So here I am - this apartment will be rented out “permanently” at the beginning of June, so my short term stay until May 20 works just fine. I have a kitchen that allows me to make my own coffee, and long enough arms to reach the faucet without having to stand on one leg, although I suppose I could do that, too.

The view of downtown Minneapolis is lovely from up here, and the wifi is way better. Time will pass and it’s only 18 days until I’m in a walking boot that will allow me to go home. But who’s counting? 

Progress @ The Home

The first cast is off - on to the second of three and the foot is a slightly more normal angle to the leg. The ballet point of the purple cast has been replaced with a better angle, and that means my toes are out of the way when I wheel about.

Small improvements - hopping is coming along, and I’ve graduated to “modified independent” on my wall chart. That means I don’t need to press the button any more to ensure there’s an aide in the room when I do the transfers involved in getting from chair or bed to wheelchair to walker to toilet. 

Big news here in the world of The Home. And another measure of regaining autonomy. And another lesson in humility. 

Among the lessons the Universe is providing by this unexpected experience is how hard it is for me to need and ask for help. Even worse is having to ask permission to do tasks I mastered when I was three. But here at The Home, there are rules. And the rules say that until one is cleared to accomplish certain tasks, one needs to push a button to summon an aide to be there to assist. 

The aides are busy around here so summoning an aide can take time. Turns out that waiting for help is another skill I lack. 

The upside is that all of the nurses, aides and PTs and OTs are wonderful people. A necessary attribute because, boy, do they put up with a lot! 

For example, it’s hard for those with memory issues to remember about the little call button, so shouts of “HELLLOOOOO!” ring down the hall. It’s alarming when they switch to calls of “HELLLPPP!” But that does get the feet running. 

Then there’s the gentleman who refuses to put on pants. He wheels about in his chair with open-backed hospital gown which is only alarming when he chooses to prop his leg over his other knee during group PT. Then I have a deep appreciation for the importance of perspective - and roll myself over to the parallel bars for a little standing one legged work.

My time here at The Home will be over soon since, other than this pesky snapped Achilles, I have no other medical issues. So I’ll transition to short term respite care at a different facility - and am looking forward to another learning experience enabled by this saga of snap. 

Life in The Home

As I approach the end of week two in the TCU here at The Home, I have to admit that living in this island of time and space isn’t all bad.

The cast of caregivers remains compassionate and attentive. My compatriots are all somewhere on the spectrum of variously enabled and frequently amusing but always kind souls. And I’m learning which menu items are simply a bad idea when prepared in an institutional kitchen.

So for the upsides - I was told by one of the chatty aides that I’m among the most cognizant on the hall. Woohoo! Sure, that may be a low bar, but at least that’s one bar I can exceed here. 

My hopping skills are progressing. My left foot no longer feels like it’s glued to the floor as the useless right foot just dangles in its raised position, rather than dare to come anywhere near its rightful weight-bearing role. Side note? It’s really difficult to keep your brain informed that the role of the right leg has shifted from useful appendage for walking into a heavily casted somewhat useless object for the next five weeks.

I’ve tested out a knee scooter which seems like it could be promising, if I didn’t feel like I have T-Rex dinosaur arms based on the narrow width of the handlebars. Still seems like it could be kinda tippy for much use and tipping is one thing I’m working to avoid at this point. We shall see if this will be useful.

I met a lovely woman in the PT gym. It took me three tries to get her name right after she said it. “Is that Claudette?”, I asked. “No,” she said, repeating her name. “Ah, Claudine!” I said.  Again no. She finally carefully said, “Claudith - like Edith.” And then shared that she was the eighth of her mother’s children and her mother ran out of names she wanted. So she asked her cousin for a name for the baby….at which point, Claudith pauses…and he was a drunk, so that’s how I got my name. 

She’s in her late 80s and has repeated that story her whole life. Clearly a cautionary tale for taking care with the names we give our children!

And a note for all my friends. If you’re ever in The Home where restricted diets are the norm, be sure to ask for salt and pepper for your room. It’s truly the difference between edible and inedible when it comes to most foods.  

Ben was right - this place is a wellspring of content! 

Dignity Deferred

First it was David. Then there was Phil, Jose, MaryAnn, Nicole, Lisa, Presca, Jenner, and Leslie. Oh, and Deanna, Liane, Bernard, Michele, Debbie, and Kesha.

Each is a member of the extensive and still growing personal care team handling my personal - well - care for my newly re-enfeebled self when I showed up at The Home this week for recovery from surgery. 

This wasn’t the plan. I was recovering nicely from the hip replacement when suddenly my Achilles decided it needed to snap. My goal was a quick repair, and hobbling around in a boot for a few weeks before resuming normal life.

But a week ago, the ankle/foot orthopedic specialist confirmed what I had hoped Google had exaggerated. I needed surgery on that snapped Achilles tendon and that would involve six weeks of no weight-bearing on that leg, not to mention the first 10 days of leg elevation for 21 hours per day. Then there will be six more weeks with a lovely boot and crutches or cane hobbling. 

That threw us into a tail spin. We love our 120 year old home. Everything about it. In fact a couple of years ago, we’d redone the back of the house so it would be easier to transform into single level living when we would need more assistance with everyday life. 

It never occurred that we’d need that single level living now. Sure, the stairs had been a bit of a challenge as I waited for the hip replacement surgery earlier this year. But the stairs remained manageable…and just when I managed to walk up and down like a normal human - left, right, left, right - the snapped Achilles pushed me backwards.

Just imagining hopping up those higher than normal stairs? Well - the doctor assured me that he had patients that just scooted up and down stairs on their backside. That too elicited an eye roll. Great - I would be at the top of the stairs, and I still had to stand up on one leg. 

So we went to work seeking a temporary location with lots of support to make recovery possible for our aging selves. Fortunately, Minnesota is a state known for its excellence in health care - and with some extraordinary advocacy from the surgeon’s team, we left the surgery center on Monday for a transitional care unit with plenty of support to teach me hopping and scooting skills to survive the next three months.

What I wasn’t ready for was the immediate loss of autonomy when I was wheeled into a room post surgery. Apparently TCUs are one of the most heavily regulated types of facilities in this country and with attorneys being as risk averse as most are, boy, are there rules. 

I can’t even “self-administer” vitamins while here…unless I get a doctor’s order. And getting out of the bed, transferring to a chair, much less going on my own to the restroom - all require assistance to ensure no falls. Toileting has become a new action verb in my vocabulary. 

Don’t get me wrong. I get it. If I had seen myself hopping or pivoting pathetically on one leg, I’d be worried too. 

So many people - strangers all - albeit compassionate caregivers - have now seen every part of this aging body. And I mean all the parts. Even recognizing that I once was the age when my swim suits covered significantly little corporeal real estate, this involves putting personal dignity on the shelf for awhile. 

My son reminds me that this experience will provide plenty of content - and oh, he is right! Stay tuned for more notes from The Home, as I upgrade hopping and strength skills for maneuvering life in our old house as soon as possible. 

Time for A Redux and A Change!

My year so far…

I can't quite figure out what the universe is trying to tell me. But it’s clear that something needs to change. 

It was while lying in the MRI with oldies music masking the whirring sounds of the machine that I realized this whole year has been punctuated by a series of terrible, horrible, no good, very bad things. 

In what I've thought of as my normal approach to life, I began 2023 with a plan. We were organizing for the delayed trip to Jacques’ hometown of Tangier with the family, and I was going to regain the full flexibility of my inhibited hip. Convinced it was a hip flexor issue, I signed up to see the physical therapist and the chiropractor and got to work. 

As I told you at the end of 2023, it didn’t work. Every visit to the club left me in a heap of hurt that knocked me over. And I did it for months believing next time would be better. We took the trip, and I hobbled along gamely. Finally, in the fall, a visiting friend saw me stand up and said, “My 97 year old mother can stand up better than you!” 

That was sobering. So I went to see his mother’s hip specialist who, one simple x-ray later, informed me that she was surprised I was still walking based on the level of arthritic decay evident. 

Well, that too was sobering. She gave me the name of The Hip Replacement surgeon - they do specialize, these orthopedists. And by then, we were into the “I’ve used up my deductible” surgery rush time of year. I got in to see him last October, and the first appointment available was in January of this year.

That was the winter of my discontent. Pain and opioids. I recognize that opioids have been seriously over prescribed in this country, but they saved me through the surgery. 

My poor family. I ended up sleeping in a zero gravity chair for four months, as that was the only way to get more than an hour of sleep at a time before pain bolted me awake from the bed. (If you’ve never seen a zero gravity chair, they’re truly remarkable, but not a great place to sleep for months at a time…no rolling over.)

Then in December, just for fun, my body decided it was time for shingles to emerge. I meant to get the shots. They were scheduled in 2020 and we all know what happened that year. So I put it off, and the virus emerged. Fortunately, I was on a zoom call with a University colleague, and mentioned that the skin over my eyebrow felt strangely painful. He asked me to show him, so I said it was from the middle of my forehead over to the right side of my face, and…he interrupted. “You’ve got shingles and go to the ER to make sure it’s not in your eye.”

I never knew shingles could be on your face. Thought it was all torso pain. Nope. Six hours later, I learned that yes, I had shingles. Yes I had a powerful antiviral to add to my opioids, and that so far, there were no dendrites apparent in my eye. But I’d need to go see the ophthalmologist regularly to monitor. 

So - to tally - excruciating hip pain moderated by codeine, face pain with blurry eyes thanks to shingles related antiviral eye drops mixed with powerful antiviral pills. The pile of books I’d planned to roll through as I waited for surgery were now merely a blurry impossibility. The last few weeks of 2023 into the first month of 2024 were a bummer. Those who have accused me of being too positive in my approach to life wouldn’t have recognized that version of me. 

Finally - the surgery took place, and I began the work to regain mobility. The first couple of weeks were tough.  But again - the oxycontin and my supportive spouse got me through. Then right into physical therapy and the pain was gone as were the opioids, and all was moving in the right direction! Autonomy and mobility once again.

Even the shingles in the eye - oh yes, that happened - were resolving. 

Until last week. 

It’s not like I was running for a touchdown pass when my Achilles tendon snapped. I was merely walking into the house after a glorious solo trip of errands when I heard and felt the snap. An inconclusive x-ray led to the highly conclusive MRI that suggests another surgery on my new hip leg is in the near future.

So here I sit, pondering the message that the experience of this past year is sending. What am I not doing that I should be to break this string of terrible, horrible, no good, very bad luck?  

On the other hand - and this is where my positivity kicks back in (sorry, KK) - I know how very lucky I am to live in a supportive community of family and friends who are here when I need them with quarts of soup, happy hour and tea party gatherings, and boxes of treats and books to distract and entertain me over the last several months. 

And that’s the one clear lesson I take away from this past year - I have so much to be grateful for - even in my newly re-hobbled condition.

A None-Too-Soon Goodbye to 2023

Expecting the unexpected in the road ahead… Photo by Jarco Penning on Unsplash

This will be the year I remember as peppered with the proverb “This, too, shall pass”.

I only throw out that phrase when things are agonizingly annoying or somewhat painful or somehow horrifying. And it has proven to be not so true when it comes to world events.

I doubt the ongoing devastation in Ukraine will “pass” as long as Russia’s dictator desires its annexation. And the horror in the Israel and Gaza is far from passing.

As I finish that year-end review of the list of personal goals that seemed so eminently doable last January, it’s hard to suppress a chuckle at all that occurred as the year emerged.

I didn’t know that all of the PT and chiropractic care I sought for my clicky, sticky hip didn’t have a prayer of dealing with that rusty joint.

I tried. I worked at it. I thought, “I can do this!”

And then learned in September that I, nope I can’t do this on my own. I need a very skilled surgeon who will replace this old arthritic joint in two weeks – and then, again, it will be up to me to rehab back to the mobility I desire. So, this, too, shall pass.

My work has always provided the unexpected, which may mean there’s nothing unexpected about my work at all. Working for clients in higher ed, philanthropy, and networking tech means there’s no lack of issues asking for my attention. And 2023 has delivered oh so many issues eliciting the …shall pass… refrain.

There were indeed high points. We finally achieved our long-delayed family trip to Tangier and transferred knowledge of Jacques’ hometown to our next generation. Family sites, friends to know, and landmarks to never forget are now part of their shared knowledge. That passed too quickly.

We are truly fortunate to have our family all settled in Minneapolis. Daughter Clare came back first, and now Ben and Nellie own a house in the city just a couple of miles from us – and that I hope never passes.

The final note to this year has been a personal experience with shingles. I don’t recommend it. Turns out shingles is precisely as painful as people say it is. And when one has the added bonus of having shingles of the face/near the eye? Well, it brings a whole new appreciation for clarity of sight minus the smeariness of goo in the eye.

To all of you, my family and friends, I leave you with this thought. Yes, this will pass and the New Year will come. May it be filled with health and happiness for you and yours.

And if you haven’t? Get your Shingrix shots!